WOLVERINE: TRAFFICK
by jordanbobe
Summary: Wolverine, fresh from having his memories wiped, is living the life of a vagabond. After waking in a jail cell he discovers the small town is harboring a house of ill repute full of underage women. Not sure of who or what he is he knows one thing; he can't stand by and allow such atrocities. Set in an AU with strong ties to the X-Men Origins comics.


**1.**

He woke up to a strange room. Of course for as long as he could remember everywhere had seemed strange. His mind, what little was left of it, was a blank slate. The only things that he was truly aware of were when he was hungry and when he was angry. The latter seemed like a natural state for him.

He sniffed at the air. Sometimes scents brought memories, or as close to memories as he came. The scent of fried chicken and mashed potatoes had taken him to a small kitchen with a woman that he vaguely recognized less than a month ago. It hadn't been his first memory, but for some reason that gave him the most hope.

This morning the only scents he picked up were sex, liquor and drugs. He must have stumbled his way into one of those cheap motels he had become so fond of. The only thing better than remembering was forgetting. A couple of shots at a sleazy bar and he was golden. No matter how drunk he got, though, he never felt at home.

He rolled over and realized he was on the floor. Closer inspection of his person proved that he was still wearing his clothing. The only thing that had been taken off was the pair of dog tags that told him his name. He clutched his chest where it should be and came fully awake.

He snarled when he realized where he was. The jail cell couldn't hold him. He didn't know why they would even bother with him. He was a lost cause. They couldn't kill him. Surely his identification had proven to them that he had been through all of this many times before.

"Awake, are you?" A deep voice grumbled. A large guard stepped into the doorway, wiping coffee film from his mustache. "Surprised you can even stand up."

"Why's that, bub?" Wolverine asked.

"Half the town took turns beating you upside the head after that stunt you pulled last night."

"Well, obviously your town is full of pussies."

The guard chuckled. "Well, we don't have any reason to hold you now. I assume you're not planning on pressing any charges on your own behalf, eh?"

"I don't have time for the judicial system," Wolverine said. "Sorry if I pissed in your chips last night."

"Mine? No, I live a county over. Just work here. The rednecks got what was coming to them."

The guard opened the door. Wolverine stepped out, pausing only when a huge hand fell on his chest.

"Bit of advice, my friend. The guys you roughed up last night probably won't take too kindly to it—"

"Already planning on skipping town, bub. I know when I've overstayed my welcome."

"Good, good."

Wolverine paused only long enough to pick up his money clip and dog tags. He stepped out into the brisk autumn air and sniffed again. He walked through the town planning to find a ride out.

Instead he came to a house that he vaguely remembered from the day before. It was the first place he had stopped when he came to town. The sign said "Rooms and stuff". It was hanging above the doorway to the building. When he went inside, though, it was obvious what the stuff was.

Now, earlier in the day, he caught sight of a woman sitting on the porch. He snorted, the smell of sex heavy on her. Then, for an unknown reason, he looked at the woman again and realized though her features had been aged by the opium he smelled oozing from her pores she was far from a woman. He guessed her age to be somewhere between fourteen and sixteen.

He lifted the handle on the gate and purposely avoided the stepping stones as he made his way to the porch. There was no reason to teach a Geisha house as anything else. He came to a stop when the girl looked up at him. Sitting in her lap was a ragdoll. He growled despite himself.

"Looking for a good time?" she asked.

"Your accent— you don't come from around here, do you?" he said.

"British Columbia, why do you ask?"

"That's an awful long way from home. Did your parents bring you here?"

"Look, buddy, if you're not buying time you're wasting it," a deep voice growled. Wolverine turned around and saw the look of recognition come over the speaker's face. "You son of a—"

"You should watch your mouth around children," Wolverine snarled.

"She's a working girl. I explained all of this to you last night before we beat you half to death?"

Wolverine laughed. "For a half-dead guy I feel pretty damn lively."

The man pulled a pair of brass knuckles from his jacket and slid his fingers into them. He took a lumbering step forward and swung wildly at Wolverine's head. The mutant grabbed his arm and swept his feet out from under him. As the man crashed to the ground Wolverine knelt over him and let out an animalistic growl.

"You worthless piece of… How many? How many of you are there?" Wolverine growled. He looked at the little girl sitting on the porch and raised his brows in question. "How many girls your age work here?"

"A dozen," she said. He was not surprised to see the look of terror on her face.

"And, let me guess, none of you come from this Providence."

"No, sir."

Wolverine turned back to the man, but was caught off guard when the brute smashed the knuckles right into the side of his head. He reared back for a moment, his mouth opening to reveal his elongated canines. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at the man again. The torn flesh around his temple sealed, soon not even a scar remained.

He punched the man in the gut, extending his claws. The man gargled on his own blood. Wolverine pulled his claws back in and got to his feet. He walked up onto the porch and looked at the little girl.

"How did you wind up here? Did they take you or were you sold to them?"

"They took me."

"When I get done in here you're going to show me where they operate out of, okay?"

The girl nodded. Wolverine gave her a light pat on the shoulder.

"Give me five minutes. If you can get you hand on one I'd like a cigar, too."

Wolverine stepped into the house and saw the woman sitting behind the desk a split second before she dashed into a back room. He could smell dozens of men, but most of the scents were faint. He extended his claws and sniffed at the air.

When the man came at him from out of the dining room he knew the blow was coming. Rather than avoid it he allowed the man to crush the heavy vase over his head. He turned in the same instant and plunged his claws into both lungs. He lifted the man off of the floor and tossed him over the desk.

Wolverine threw the desk aside and followed the scent of the madam deeper into the house's bowels. He passed through a kitchen and sniffed out the woman beneath his feet. He considered tearing the floor out from under him, but decided that it was a bad idea.

He kicked in the door to the basement instead. He heard agitated voices beneath him and the distinct smell of gun oil filled his nose. He braced himself and continued down the stairs. The shotgun blast hit him in the chest, throwing him back against the wall. He grunted and launched himself at the big man with the shotgun. His claws pierced the man's throat. When he withdrew them the man's head fell away.

Wolverine marched to the terrified woman as she cocked her pistol and tried to aim it at him. He sliced the gun apart. Before the woman even had a chance to scream she was crumpled on the ground.

Wolverine snarled and walked up the stairs. He listened as pandemonium spread all around him. Most of the men were just johns and while he wouldn't mind killing every one of them he was more interested in finding those that were running the place.

He was confronted by a police officer in the kitchen. The man unloaded a pistol into him, but it didn't slow him down. He grabbed the refrigerator and tossed it at the man, crushing him against the wall.

He made his way through the rest of the house, dispatching two more armed men. Once he was sure that all of the people that were running the Geisha house were dispatched he went out to the porch. He pondered for a moment why he kept thinking of the house in Japanese terms and decided that it didn't matter.

The girl was sitting on the porch. She handed him a cigar and he smirked. "Resourceful kid, eh? So do me a favor and tell me where I can find the people that are running this orphan train?"

"They operate out of Quebec, but they travel the entire country and parts of America."

"Where is their closest hang-out?"

"Thirty miles North in Hamsburg."

"Thanks."

Wolverine stepped down off of the porch, bouncing a stolen pair of truck keys in his palm. He stuffed the cigar in his mouth and lit it with a match.

Just as he was climbing up into the cab of the truck the girl ran up to him. He looked at her and frowned. "What's up, kid?"

"Can I get a ride out of here?" she asked.

He looked out over the lawn and saw a dozen more girls.

"I don't have enough room for you all."

"There's a camper in the back. We would all fit and I know where the keys are."

"Fine, that sounds good. Go get the keys."

"You're not going to leave us when I go are you?"

"If I was going to leave I would have already."

The girl nodded and went to get the trailer's keys. Wolverine snorted. He wasn't sure he was or where he came from, but he was sure of his purpose. He was a killer, but that didn't mean he had to be a bad person. He would hunt and kill those who were hurting these children. He wouldn't stop until every last one of them was dead.


End file.
